Page 25 of Can't Stop Watching
"What type of interviews are you preparing for, Lila Marks?" I mutter, adjusting the focus as she stretches, revealing a sliver of skin between her tank and shorts.
It's 3:17 AM when she finally closes her laptop, rolling her shoulders. The mic catches her sigh—deep and weary. She moves to the bathroom, out of my line of sight. Water runs. The sound of teeth being brushed. A toilet flushing.
She emerges, face scrubbed clean, hair loose around her shoulders, and crawls into bed. No fancy nighttime ritual. No expensive creams or face masks. Just a woman too tired to do anything but fall into bed.
Except she doesn't fall asleep.
For twenty minutes, I watch her toss and turn, punching her pillow into submission, kicking at her blankets. She seems restless, agitated by something unseen.
"What demons keep you up, pretty girl?" I whisper, knowing damn well I'm one of them now. One more man violating her boundaries.
Through the scope, I watch as Lila's fingers trace a path down her body. The tank clings to her, outlining the curves of her breasts. She's got one hand under the material, caressing herself.
Oh, fuck!
My cock thickens in my pants, and I can't help but groan. The irony of it all doesn't escape me. I told myself I'm protecting her, yet… the hell is I can deny myself this twisted pleasure.
I unzip my fly, freeing my hard length, and start to palm myself in time with Lila's rhythm. It's wrong, so goddamn wrong, but fuck if it doesn't feel incredible. Watching her touch herself, knowing she has no idea I'm here... it's like being a part of her most intimate moment without crossing any physical boundaries.
My breath hitches as I feel myself approaching the edge. I'm close, so fucking close already. What the hell? I force myself to slow down, savoring the moment. I want this to last, want to watch Lila come undone before I lose control.
Her fingers move lower, sliding beneath the waistband of her shorts. I see the faint outline of her pubic hair, and I can't help but imagine what it would feel like to run my own fingers through it. To taste her.
She moans softly, the sound barely audible through the rain and the distance between us. It's enough to push me over the edge. I come with a growl, my release hot and sticky in my hand. I watch as Lila's body shudders, her orgasm taking over. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and I curse myself for not being there to witness it up close.
I clean myself up as best as I can, then zip up my fly. I can't help but feel dirty as I watch Lila curl up in bed, her breaths slowing as she drifts off to sleep. I've invaded her privacy in the worst way possible, and there's no turning back now.
Leaving the gear in place, I make my way back to my car, placing a brand new lock on the door, my mind racing with thoughts of Lila. I know I should stay away from her, but I can't. She's under my skin now. Need to protect her from the darkness I see lurking in the shadows.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, bringing me back to reality. It's a text from Milo.
Milo: Found you a way to get into Langford's "secret" apartment. I've just sent the details.
Perfect timing, Milo.
I drive through the rain, my mind tangled between guilt over Lila and anticipation for Langford's case. Milo's text is a lifeline, pulling me from the moral abyss I've been drowning in all night.
DANE
Back in my apartment, I open Milo's encrypted file on my laptop. The bastard's outdone himself—security rotations, building layout, cleaning schedule, and a perfect three-hour window for schedule maintenance crews coming up tomorrow.
"Jesus, Milo," I mutter, scrolling through the details. "Remind me never to piss you off."
I grab an equipment case from my closet, mentally cataloguing what I'll need. Micro cameras, smaller than thumbnails. Audio bugs, practically invisible. All connected to a remote server Milo's rigged to capture everything without detection. Military-grade shit that civilian security systems won't detect.
The plan is simple: get in, plant the surveillance, get out. Next time Langford brings one of his women back to his love nest, we'll have the evidence Claire needs—concrete, undeniable proof of the cheater wearing her wedding ring.
I check my watch. Almost five. Still two hours before Langford leaves for his morning run. Sleep isn't happening, not with Lila's moaning image branded into my retinas.
My reflection in the bathroom mirror tells a story of its own—bloodshot eyes, stubble darkening my jaw. What do you see when you look at yourself, Wolfe? Protector or predator?
The line between the two is razor-thin. My father lived on the wrong side with ease, wore his predatory nature like expensive cologne. Maybe I inherited every bit of his mangled DNA.
I splash cold water on my face, trying to wash away the memory of watching Lila through a scope. The rush of wrongness and desire. The knowledge that I'll probably do it again.
At least with Langford, the lines are clear. He's an asshole who doesn't deserve respectability and the nice wife that comes along with it. I'm just the guy setting the trap.
"Focus on what you can control," I remind myself. "One bastard at a time."
